Negligible Senescence
by Zoraya Windwalker
Summary: The signs of death are as followed: -Respiratory arrest, Cardiac arrest, Pallor mortis, Livor mortis, Algor mortis, Rigor mortis and Decomposition. But what comes next? What comes AFTER?
1. Rigor Mortis

**A/N: So I haven't posted here in quite a while. THIS story has been posted on AO3 as well, just so you know that I didn't do a copy/paste thing and steal this work.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't earn any money off this, I'm just** **torturing** **playing with the characters for fun! This counts for all the following chapters as well!**

 **OOO**

When he gasps awake, the electricity is still making his limbs twitch in little, uncontrolled movements. It makes his usually neat cursive spiky and uneven when he writes the formula on a scrap of paper. He sends Maze on her way with it, because she seems even _more_ twitchy and obviously needs something physical to do. He knows his demon – she's been scared and worried, and she _hates_ being scared or worried, never mind a combination of the two. So he sends her on this errand, knowing she can and will make sure that the formula will reach the right hands.

The he lies back down. He's tired – exhausted, really. In a moment he'll get back up, make himself presentable, and visit Chloe. He'll have some witticisms ready to go and he'll look combed and perfect while doing so. In a moment though. He needs to close his eyes and rest, first.

 **OOO**

When Maze returns to the commandeered room, she finds Linda and the Bitch Goddess in silent conversation. They hush her when she starts to speak in a normal tone. Tell her to let Lucifer sleep for a while longer. She huffs but complies – he _had_ been pretty beat, earlier.

And hour later she gets a text from Amenadiel. Chloe shows signs of waking, though she's not all the way there yet. So she goes to wake him up, because there's _no_ way she will deal with his bitching if he doesn't get to go home, shower, and dress in a new suit in time to catch her first, actual waking moment. He doesn't react when she shakes his shoulder. At all. He doesn't scrunch up his face, he doesn't grumble at her to leave him be. When she shakes him harder, his head flops to the side, at which point she slaps his cheek and then just… stops. As she looks down at him, she notices that there's no color to him except the slight, greyish-blue tinge to his lips. And he's cold. Usually he's running hot, celestial metabolism and hellfire keeping him warm and toasty. But there's no warmth, no _life_ radiating from him now. She would go for the defibrillator again, but she knows death when she's face to face with. And by the look of things, he's been gone too long already. Likely before she even made it back to the room. She sits down by his feet and laughs and laughs and laughs. She's aware of Linda panicking, of his mother asking useless questions. She can feel the bed jerking as Linda realizes what's going on and starts to give him CPR. But she just sits there for a moment and pretends the tears streaming down her face are from the laughter. But then her friends start to fire up the machinery again and she needs to calm down, _now_.

 **OOO**

She's been awake for hours now, and she's disappointed. And yeah, pissed, too. She didn't think much of it when he wasn't there when she woke, thinking he was still dealing with the aftermath, or something. But people have been in and out of her room. Dan had come with her little Monkey, and Ella had been by to make sure she got the antidote right on the first try. Maze had been in a while ago, giving her an odd smile, patted her shoulder and left again. Even Amenadiel had been here. But, damn it to all hell, he's her partner and she expected him to have at least called or even just texted by now. But no, nothing. Zilch.

And then he fails to pick up his phone and answer the texts _she_ sends _him_ , at which point she starts to worry. So she checks herself out against the doctors advice and calls an Uber.

When she enters the penthouse, she can hear Maze and Amenadiel yelling at each other. They're out on the terrace but she doesn't care. He's lying on his bed, dressed to the nines as always. He's even got his shoes on. And he's not moving, and she doesn't think she's _ever_ seen him still. It's as if he isn't physically able to. He's always adjusting his cufflinks, or pulling imagined lint off his suite or bouncing his foot or _something_. She stops beside the bed, and she knows what the problem is, she's a homicide detective, she can't _not_ know. She sits down beside him and takes his hand in hers. His fingers are stiff, but his wrist isn't quite there yet so he can't have been gone for more than seven, eight hours, tops. And that's when her professional brain shuts off and the tears that have been leaking ever so slowly start to fall in earnest. By the time the other two notice her, she's flat out sobbing, his hand still clutched between both of hers. Neither says a word to her – or maybe the blood and misery rushing through her brain are so loud she can't hear them. Maze sits down beside her, but doesn't touch, and she's thankful for that. She would break. She _is_ breaking, bits and pieces already gone to shambles, and she can't afford to fall apart entirely. She will need to go home to her daughter soon, she'll need to… well, she doesn't know. Plan a funeral, or hunt a killer or… or. She'll find out soon enough anyway. Right now, she needs to cry and try to fit the pieces of herself back together – at least enough to make others believe.

So she clutches his hand, and she cries, and she can't believe that he isn't opening his eyes to leer at her, and tell her, _"Well,_ Darling _. If I only knew that_ this _was the way to finally get you into bed with me!"_. But he isn't, and he won't.

He's gone.

END

 **Soooo, what do you think? Should I post the rest of it as well, or are you bored already? Let me know? So long!**


	2. Decomposition

**A/N: Well, I'm back with the second chapter! Hope you'll enjoy it** **. Also, thank you for your reviews – sadly, I can't answer them if you leave them as "guest" so I can only thank you here, like this^^. Now, on with it!**

 **Disclaimer: as seen in chapter one**

OOO OOO OOO

There are still blisters on her hands. It's been a week, but seven days don't count for much if you keep on picking on the healing skin, pulling it away, just so _something_ on you feels as raw as your heart.

She'd wanted to call an ambulance, get him to some expensive, stylish funeral home. She wanted an extravagant headstone with one of his usual innuendos etched in there. The moment she voiced that idea, Maze had lost her somber attitude and…well. She screamed and ranted, told her about a formula stuck in the head of a dead guy, of a trip to hell to save a human Miracle. Linda tries to calm her down but there was never any way to stop this train wreck from happening. Then half of Maze's face seemingly melts away. If she closes her eyes, she can still see the laid bare mandible, the milky white eye and the grey, raggedy looking ruin of her cheek and forehead. And yeah, she finally believes that Lucifer is _the_ Lucifer, The Son Of The Morning, _the Devil_. But at that point it's too late anyway. Apparently, there's no way back for him now. Wings cut off, Pentecostal coin all used up, and Amenadiel a Fallen, no way to fly down and pick his brother up. So he's stuck downstairs, and they can't bring his body to a hospital because they'd do an autopsy and aside from the weird things they'd find in his back, where there's additional bones and things because there used to be two more limbs there…yeah. Aside from that, Maze has no idea if his bloodwork would be even remotely human, and humanity can _not_ be trusted with something like divine blood. They call Ella and Dan, wait until they are done with their breakdown/existential crisis and proceed as if to hide a crime.

They drive out to a big stretch of woodlands Ella recognizes, but she doesn't ask. She can't handle anything else right then. They dig deep. No shallow grave for him – this isn't so much hiding a body as it is a funeral after all. So they dig a proper six-feet-deep and add another one for good measure. Lucifer is dressed in his favorite suit – she can imagine him bitching away, being scandalized that the suit is going to be ruined and _Detective, you can't be_ serious _! This is_ Armani _, you can't put an Armani suit under seven feet of dirt cover! Blasphemy!_

She can't see his face, or anything of him, when they lower him down. He's wrapped up in one of his bedsheets; a bit like a sailor before he's given back to the seas.

When they start to pack the dirt back in, each shovelful sounds like the caricature of a death knell to her ears. But this is still Lucifer, and she thinks he would hate how silent everything is. There's no music, there's no party and…

…And she blinks back to the present when someone slaps a file down in front of her. Right. Work. She's at the precinct and there's a new case and she can't think about any of this right now.

OOO OOO OOO

She's back at his grave later that day. It's raining cats and dogs. There's thunder and lightning, and this is the way it should've been the night they buried him. The skies should've been weeping. Instead it had been a beautiful, clear night; full moon, stars shining bright and cold as crystal. She's always been fond of the stars, but ever since that night she couldn't stand the sight of them. How come they got to go on when their maker was stuck somewhere he couldn't even bask in his masterpiece?

It takes her hours to dig the grave back up, and by the time she can see the dirty sheets it's gone midnight and her hand are bleeding again. The rain stopped quite a while ago, but it's still overcast and she can't see a single star tonight. She's glad of it. She cuts the sheet open with a pocket knife and lets the cool night air touch his face.

The she climbs up the ladder she's brought along (she's going _insane_ with grief, not _stupid_ ), sits on the edge of his grave and takes out her phone. Moments later Billie Holiday is singing _Body and Soul_. She would go and lie down with him, but she's not quite reached the point where she would cuddle up to a corpse yet. So she lies on her back, feet dangling down and looks at the overcast sky. The air smells like rain and ozone, of overturned earth and decomposing vegetation. The greens are the only thing returning to nothing though. His face had been pale when she looked at it, and the slack, motionless features had been hard to see but that was all. No bloating, no maggots, nothing. He had looked exactly like the day he's been buried. That's got to mean _something_ , right?

She keeps on lying there, the song on repeat, her eyes closed and waits to wake up from the nightmare.

END


	3. Algor Mortis

**A/N: Woooooooo. Next part! Thank you for the reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: I still don't own anything and I still don't get paid for it** **.**

OOO

He's cold all the time now. There's something he was supposed to do, somewhere he was supposed to go, but damn it to all hell (pun _fully_ intended), he couldn't remember.

Not where or when or even who. Not even about himself, mostly. He knows he went to sleep, that he'd been exhausted and clammy from sweat, though not because he's been too warm.

He sees blue eyes and blond hair and he knows it's important, but every time he's _this_ close to getting a hold of his memories he starts to shiver, to feel the cold, and everything scatters and flees again.

Then he's back to the cold and he drifts along a strange river with no water and no substance.

But it's alright. He can let go for now, stop chasing...anything. He still has his own name, and the blond hair and the blue eyes, and as long as he has that, he'll be fine. He's still Lucifer, and he never gives up. The cold will wake him up again in a while and he'll start anew.

OOO

The first thing he's done after they came back from the funeral – and after he'd made sure that Chloe would be as alright as she can get right now, and Trixie could stay with his parents for a few days – was to visit a church.

He's been up all night and by the time he reached it, Morning Mass was about to start. He sat in the last pew; joined the other people in the prayers, said all the right things at the right time and... it made him feel emptier than ever.

It's only been a few hours since the Stories from Sunday School suddenly became History Lessons, and already he felt himself losing Faith. There's no Faith needed when one has proof, right? And what should he believe in anyway?

If you listen to The Book, Lucifer is the bad guy. Only... he couldn't see that. Sure the guy is... _was_ strange. Hedonistic and self-centered and sometimes like a child. And an ass, certainly. But _evil_? No. Going from there, what else was not to be believed? What's that saying? The winners write the story? And Lucifer wasn't the winner.

A failed Rebellion, Fallen and Banished. So someone else got to write the story, and who knows how it really happened anyway? He's not sure even Lucifer does anymore.

There's stuff in his own life he can't quite recall anymore. Even important things – _especially_ those. They got warped and changed by his own imagination, colored in by his emotions.

He's pretty sure that Chloe hadn't actually given off light when she walked down the aisle. And there's no way that Trixie was the smartest, cutest, most beautiful baby ever, but his memory is telling him she was (still is).

So he's sure it was the same for Lucifer. When Mass is over he just leaves. Doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't dip his fingers in the bowl of water, doesn't kneel before the Cross. It's all empty and... and no one is really listening anyway, right? He's been begging _someone_ for days now.

Prayer after Prayer after Prayer. First, for Chloe to be alright. And the kicker? The only one answering that Prayer was the Devil himself. And said Devil went and died for it, and after that, no one bothered to answer anymore. He helped to dig a grave, and he watched his ex-wife break.

He saw a Demon breaking down in sobs so violent he thought she would never stop shaking and an Angel stand stoic and with no obvious feelings as his fucking _brother_ is buried in an unmarked grave. He arrives home and stands there for a moment before straightening his shoulder and grabbing his trash can from the kitchen.

He wanders every room in the little flat, collects everything that has any connection to Religion.

A Bible and an old, wooden statue of the Holy Virgin Mary that had always had a place of honor in every living room he's ever called his. The necklace with the tiny, golden Cross that's living on his nightstand. A flask of Blessed Water his aunt had brought from Spain.

Once he's found everything he brings the trash outside even though it won't be collected for another three days (and he can appreciate the irony there, even though there's not much else _to_ appreciate at the moment).

He just... can't have any of that in his home anymore. Then, he goes to bed. He wants to put his hands together and ask one more time. Lucifer is not his best friend, and he barely gets along with him on the best of days but...but.

His daughter adores him, and he's pretty sure his ex-wife loves him more than she ever loved anyone aside from Trixie. He saved the lives of both of his favorite girls, likely more than once. He's pretty sure it's only thanks to him that he didn't lose his freedom _or_ his job.

He's going to miss his snide remarks, and he hates that he doesn't need to bring more pudding just so he can have _one_ to himself. But his Faith has gone cold and dead just like the Devil, and he doesn't have a Prayer left.

OOO

She's kept her practice closed ever since she helped with... well, ever since. All her adult life she's been working on _helping_ people. Sure, she's not the kind of doctor to see to physical sickness or injuries, but in her eyes the mental health of people is just as important as anything else.

And she'd made it her responsibility to help the people that came to her.

And then Lucifer happened and she felt less and less proud. If it had just been sleeping with him (which, yeah, still unprofessional to a horrible degree, but she's come to realize that sex had never been anything personal for Lucifer, so she could forgive herself easily enough there). But no.

She went ahead and became his friend, and became more and more involved in his existence. Becoming friends with Maze and Chloe and... all of it.

She should've either quit being his therapist or his friend. Or both, after she learned the truth. She should've known that it wouldn't end well.

And now... now he's gone, and it's her fault. She'd known it wasn't a good idea, that she hadn't tried hard enough to talk him out of it. But at the very least, she should've kept an eye on him.

She'd _seen_ how bad he looked after they got him back. How exhausted and beat. Instead she'd been having a talk with his mother and never even noticed when he went away... when he died.

So the practice is closed because there's no way she can deal with patients, no way she can try to help anyone when she can't stop shaking and crying and can't even help _herself_. When she feels cold down to her very soul, and so, so guilty.

She's glad for the guilt, at least. Considering what Lucifer had been telling her about hell, that's exactly where her guilt would carry her after her time was up. Maybe he'd come and find her after a while. She could apologize to him. Beg forgiveness for letting him down.

Keep him company. Yeah. That would be nice. Now she just needs to stop shaking.

This is LA. There's no way she should be cold.

OOO

He'd been right, before. Whenever _before_ was. He doesn't know. Time is gone, has no meaning.

And he thinks he lost another part of himself. He still has his name. There's... blond hair. And green.. no, blue eyes. They're blue, like the sky before noon is in full swing and washed the color to nearly white. But he's still so cold, and the river-that-isn't is ripping at him and steals things it has no right to steal.

But as long as he can keep a hold of his name, he's going to be fine. He's... he's... The Lightbringer. Yes, that sounds right. He brings light. He's...Samael.

*** TBC ***


End file.
